


Point, Evidence, Explain

by pickwicklingpapers



Series: Arrow [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, mentions of a pretty shitty childhood, mentions of circus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickwicklingpapers/pseuds/pickwicklingpapers
Summary: Phil first meets Clint when Hill stalks into the office, says "Coulson, Barton. Barton, Coulson. Wheels up in five." and leaves. It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship.





	Point, Evidence, Explain

Phil first meets Clint Barton when Fury’s new assistant, Maria Hill stalks into the office and says “Coulson, Barton. Barton, Coulson. Wheels up in five.” and leaves. Phil takes one look at the bedraggled teenager lurking in the doorway and thinks _jesus, this is going to go to shit_.

Phil, as usual, is right. Barton manages to not only botch the entire operation by refusing to shoot the target because a _dog_ (of all things!) is in the room, but also manages to go off plan, lose all forms of communication and turn up three hours later with an honest to god bow and arrow and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Hey boss,” he says, “I got the target”

Phil wants to take his face and introduce it to the door, but instead he cocks an eyebrow and asks for proof of termination. As a picture and vital readings are produced, it is revealed that that Barton’s somehow not only managed to lose both of his highly expensive guns, but also managed to break both his and backup comms, resulting in around twenty thousand dollars’ worth of damage, and the loss of Phil’s sanity. He offers no explanation other than ‘shit happens’ which makes Phil want to take one of those stupid arrows and shove it somewhere delicate. But Phil isn’t the only agent in SHIELD other than Fury that can hold their nerve in front of Peggy Carter’s infamous eyebrow for nothing, so he merely tells Barton to sit down and starts driving. He can break the façade later, alone in his apartment. Only Steve Rogers’ photo ever hears Phil Coulson scream.

Barton hands in his report after two days and near constant nagging, and it looks like a second grader wrote it. The writing’s sloppy and disjoined, and apparently paragraphs and periods don’t exist in Barton’s book, whatever book that is. One that evidently doesn’t teach basic grammar.

Coulson slams it down on Barton’s desk, growling. “This isn’t good enough”. The kid might be new, might have been recruited by Fury himself, but Phil swears to god, none of his agents are going to be slacking, especially not some cocky little teenager. It’s only his first year of handling, and he already has a reputation for being level headed, in control and having exemplary agents. Barton was not going to ruin everything that Phil had worked so hard for. The kid might have had good enough aim to be allowed to skip the academy but, in Phil’s opinion, that had given him nothing but an inflated sense of self worth and a lack of discipline. Frankly, it shouldn’t be allowed – teenagers being accepted and promoted with no work, above agents who had studied and trained for years. The academy produced excellent soldiers such as Hill. Whatever Fury had decided to do had left Phil with Barton, and he knew which one he’d trust more. “Type it up next time if you can’t be bothered to write properly.”

There’s a flash of something across Barton’s face, and then a smug grin appears that makes Phil want to reach across the desk and just… _squeeze_.  “Do it well, and I’ll only make you do it once. Do it badly again, and you’ll keep doing it until I say you can stop. I don’t accept sub-standard work from my agents, and as much as I don’t like it, that includes you.” He pauses. “Do it better. Be better.”

He lets the door slam on the way out.

The next report is just as infuriating. To his credit, Barton had obviously booked one of the agent PCs to write it out on, making it slightly more readable but the layout, christ. It was like the kid had never even seen the inside of a school. No one else in the agency, from top office to the cleaners, would have dared submit a report this bad. This was why the academy was important, for christ’s sake. Handing in a report like this didn’t just inconvenience him, but everybody else that might possibly have to read it – everyone who had to face down something similar and needed information, anyone studying old missions to improve themselves. Even the fucking library lady.

He storms his way into the office where they herd all the junior agents. He vaguely notices that the mere sight of him, fuming with anger, is enough to make all the junior agents stop and stare, petrified looks on their faces. Phil Coulson is a rare sight down here, but the stories told around the academy of his time in the field are enough to make an angry Phil Coulson a terrifying sight.

“Barton” he barks. “BARTON.”

There’s no answer.  

He reaches out and grabs the nearest junior agent – a terrified ginger kid – and pulls them bodily towards him. “Where the fuck is Barton?”

The kid gulps “I – training room?”

Of fucking course.

 

* * *

 

Barton’s down in the range with that fucking bow and arrow again. It’s hard for Phil to remember the last time he was this angry, but jesus christ, that archaic weapon is the last straw. It takes a lot to get Phil mad, but his newest recruit had managed it. Phil Coulson’s top had blown, and Clint Barton was about to be on the receiving end. Barton looks up at the angry footsteps stomping towards him and then actually has the nerve to look puzzled, like he has no idea why Phil might possibly be angry with him. Like he just doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. Which is bullshit and, in Phil’s opinion, makes him all the more deserving of what’s coming to him.

“Sir? I –“

Phil cuts him off with a report to the chest, hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps. “What the fuck is this Barton? Did you not get the hint the first time round? Was I not clear enough? Did you not understand?” He opens up the report and flicks through it. “Look at this – no layout, no briefing, no paraphrasing of the mission, no full explanation of what happened, no suggested improvements. Half of the information’s not here, and the other half is so jumbled up that I don’t know where to find it! This is not how SHIELD works – no one can be efficient if they’re being handed pieces of shit like this.” He pushes the report back at Barton, who looks stunned – like Phil’s just waltzed in and started insulting his mother.

“Sir, I just-“

“Save it, Barton! You cocked up this mission, and to be completely honest, you haven’t finished cocking it up yet. And why are you practicing with a bow and arrow? Aside from anything else, it’s a ridiculous weapon – you can’t scrounge arrows when you run out like you can bullets – and you need the practice with a gun, because apparently it’s impossible for you not to lose one. I genuinely think that yo-“

“This bow is reason you all hired me.”

Phil stopped, shocked into silence by the sheer audacity of the boy who had just interrupted him. “What?”

“Fury hired me because I’m the best shot there is. I’m good with guns – I don’t need practice – but I’m best with a bow.” The surly teenager said, staring at Phil like he could drill holes with his eyes.

“Well, that aside, I, I” Phil drew in a breath and gathered the last strands of his temper. “Your report is yet again terrible. You’re going to write it again for me, and you’re going to follow official SHIELD protocol, though I understand that that’s hard for you. And when you’re done, you’re going to check it for spelling, you’re going to check it for grammar, and you’re going to make sure it’s fucking perfect. Christ, it’s like you didn’t go to school or something. I’ve seen ten year olds write better reports.” He threw the report at Barton’s feet and turned to leave. Halfway to the door, he was stopped by a mutter from the teenager behind him.

“Yeah, well joke’s on you, because I didn’t.”

Phil turns. “Excuse me? You didn’t what?”

“Nothing” Came the reply. “Forget it. I’ll do the report again.”

“No,” says Phil, still fuming, unwilling to let it go. “You had something to say, so you say it to my face.”

Barton sighs. His shoulders slump. “I didn’t go to school, okay? M writing’s shit because I never made it past third grade.”

Phils recoils. There’s no way Fury let someone into SHIELD who hadn’t even finished school, right? “No, that can’t be true. That’s illegal.” Even if he didn’t go to school – homeschooling was a thing, right? The government checks up on that kind of thing. 

“Oh yeah, because you and I both know that people never break the law.” Clint sneered, the sarcasm almost palatable. “The circus doesn’t are about schooling, it cares about profits. It cares about revenue.” The words _it doesn’t care about me_ went unspoken

“Barton.. Clint… I’m sorry.” The apology sounds empty, even to his own ears. He doesn’t know what to say, how to compute. How had this not been in the kid’s file? How had he not realized? How had he dismissed it as laziness and disrespect? God, he’d got so angry, he’d been so cruel. _Be better_. God, he’d really messed this one up. He groaned. He’d been so eager to do well, to show Fury that he should be trusted with such a raw recruit, and all he’d done was the exact opposite.

Barton leaves without a word.

 

* * *

 

The next report that materializes on Phil’s desk, he keeps, despite it being just as shit. He rewrites it himself, and files it as Barton’s work. There’s no need for anyone higher up to start hounding Barton about this mess, and Phil’s certainly not going to go back and tell him it’s not good enough again. The kid’s been avoiding him like the plague since the confrontation in the shooting range.

Through what Phil is sure is Barton’s work, he doesn’t see Clint again until the next mission. The kid speaks only when spoken to, and even then only in monosyllables. Phil spends the entire plane ride out apologizing, until Barton looks up from polishing his (brand new) gun and says “With all due respect sir, I don’t give a shit.”

To be honest, Phil can’t blame him.

Barton’s made it clear that he doesn’t want Phil’s help, and Phil’s pretty much ruined any chance he had by reacting so violently rather than getting to the bottom of the problem calmly like he should have done. But he occasionally sends essay writing books, and the parts of the SHIELD manifesto that detail how reports should be laid out, as well as resources from the academy along to Barton’s desk, and, slowly, the reports improve. It makes Phil smile slightly, because if the kid’s taking note of the books rather than binning them immediately, then Coulson hasn’t lost him completely. There’s still a chance he can redeem himself. He evens sends some of his own handwritten notes from his academy days, not that he tells Barton that.

Their relationship also improves, but Phil know he has a long way to climb back up the moral high ground. He’ll get there eventually but earning Barton’s trust is going to be hard, especially as he never actually gained it in the first place. It’ll take something big before they work the way that Phil’s always dreamed he would with an agent, and they might not even get there. But Phil owes it to the kid to at least try. Barton deserves, at the very least, somewhere to belong.

 

* * *

 

It takes 36 mission and 47 ‘lost’ guns before Clint gets an official bow and arrow. Clint’s smile as he opens the package confirms what Phil already knew – they were doing okay. One day, they’ll be fine.

They might even be unbeatable.

**Author's Note:**

> over two and a half years later something else is posted. hopefully it will not take me another two and half years to write the next section, but don't hold your breath


End file.
